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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25825336">never trust atoms</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/stelgibson/pseuds/stelgibson'>stelgibson</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The X-Files</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dana Scully - Freeform, F/M, Fox Mulder - Freeform, MSR, RST, Slow Burn, Smut, UST, early seasons msr, i wanna say... slow burn, in which our two "platonic" partners are .... decidedly not</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 02:28:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,261</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25825336</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/stelgibson/pseuds/stelgibson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>in a universe that is so vast, sometimes all it takes are pairs of wandering eyes and small touches to keep the earth spinning.<br/>Early seasons MSR.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Fox Mulder/Dana Scully</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>71</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>never trust atoms</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>my first msr fic.... ft. early seasons fbi agents just finding their footing around each other.</p><p>a big thank you to @cherry_funk and @R00M203 for their edits and help and motivation and love!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When she talks to him, her neck cranes up, her eyes always scanning forehead to nose to lips to eyes to lips to lip to lips. She gets stuck sometimes, tells herself; <em> Pull it together, Dana. </em>She knows she needs to stop before he notices.</p><p>She’s memorized the weight of his hand on her lower back, the light pressure, his strength and passion in such a simple gesture. When she’s face to face with him, she wills her fingers to not follow the curve of his neck, the ruler edge of his jaw, the soft spot right behind his ear.</p><p>She thinks about the shiver that goes down her spine when his voice drops an octave and is whispering in her ear; it’s lewd and mind-blowing that one action sends her heartbeat down down down straight to her core, and it takes all her willpower and then some to not react by throwing her hands around his neck, their breath occupying the same space, millimetres apart.</p><p>She tells herself <em>no no no no no</em> but then her heart skips a beat and her eyes linger on his shoulders, his arms, his back, his <em>ass </em>ugh, his ass. Her heart is screaming <em>yes yes yes yes yes</em> <em>please yes</em> and her brain picking up its dagger, threatening to silence her heart because <em>now is not the time, not the place</em>. But it seems like it’s never the time, never the place to say: <em>yes</em>. Even if she says yes, she knows it’s for nothing, and she’ll keep living in her dream world, Mulder flirting with his know-it-all smile and wandering eyes and his toned arms and his-</p><p>“Scully, did you see this?” </p><p>Her thoughts, interrupted again, a small sigh leaving her lips as she turns her eyes back to the screen. She keeps her gaze on him, the projector illuminating half his face, his eyebrows furrowed slightly, wondering why she isn’t paying attention. Her heart beats rapidly. She’s been caught, despite thinking the darkened room provided her enough cover. </p><p>He begins talking again, excited about the case, “Can you believe it, Scully, the fact that it’s showing up ….” He locks eyes with her, words coming out of his pretty mouth miles a minute, theories emphasized by enthusiastic hands.</p><p>He obviously doesn’t hear Scully’s heart rate go up up up up, doesn’t see the pink flush below her sternum all over her freckled chest. Her mind wanders, and she knows he doesn’t see the restraint it takes her to wipe the smile off her face that’s bubbling under the surface before it gets there when she hears his quips. He doesn’t feel the intensity of the tiny whisper of hope she feels when he oversteps into her space.</p><p>Tonight, she’ll go home to her daily glass of red wine and her thoughts. No dirty dishes in the sink,no fish to feed, no second toothbrush, and no one to lift her onto the kitchen table, filling the room with soft breathing and giggles. There won’t be tender kisses on the corners of her mouth, none lingering on her dimples. His breath won’t be ghosting over her freckles and attaching to the smooth column of her neck, her head thrown back with a smile she can’t wipe off her face. There won’t be his hands; roaming on her hips, her upper thighs while she wraps her legs around his waist, drawing him near, keeping him right there, close to her heart.</p><p>She just wants to kiss him until she can’t breathe, until she can’t remember her first name, until she’s panting and so turned on that she can’t stand it, because she knows. She knows that she’s his, and that he’s hers.</p><p>Tonight she’ll follow the same routine with her hand in her underwear, circling her clit, her pulse high and his name threatening to leave her lips as she comes, alone, without his arms around her and his breath at her neck.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>--//--</b>
</p><p> </p><p>Three sharp knocks at the door make her two blue eyes turn. It’s 7:32 pm on a Friday night, and that entails books, wine glasses and reading glasses, and certainly no visitors. She sighs, putting her book on the coffee table, pushing up her sweater sleeves as she  walks to the door. Opening the door, she is met with one tall, messy-haired FBI agent with a smile plastered across his face.</p><p>“So, Scully, got any Friday night plans?” He questions with a raise of his eyebrow. Her eyes scan down to a plastic bag in his one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. Takeout, probably.</p><p>She studies him, her lips pursed. Her shoulders relax and a small smile creeps up on her face, a little tired and a little grateful to see him. She steps aside, crossing her arms. “Guess I do now,” her lips get caught in her teeth as he walks in, trying not to let her gaze linger on him for more than what’s allowed between them.</p><p>The plastic bag crinkles as he takes out boxes of takeout. <em> She knew it. </em> Then he’s opening the cupboards for a cup, and she watches him quietly while leaning back on the kitchen counter, her arms crossed in front of her. His ease in her kitchen warms her heart and overwhelms her, reminding her that he is <em> it </em>. He is the one. The only one who’s always there, always calling her, always clouding her space and sharing her air and-</p><p>He turns around, with his hands outstretched towards her, a small cardboard box in his palms: an offering.</p><p>“For you, Scully,” he says with a smile. She can’t imagine what’s inside or why he’s so damn excited but she takes it off his hands.</p><p>“Thanks, Mulder. What is it?” she questions him, trying to turn off the voice in her head overwhelming her with <em> he thought of you, he is thinking about you, he bought that for you. </em></p><p> “Just open it!” So she does, her face wary.</p><p>It’s a mug. A white mug. Covered in a sheet of tissue paper. She unwraps it gingerly, and spins it around. In black font it says, “Never trust atoms, they make up everything”.  With her right eyebrow raised, she stops the impending eye roll in its tracks, but can’t stop the small chuckle leaving her lips. “I haven’t heard a pun this bad since my first physics class in college,” she jokes. He’s still beaming, obviously pleased with his purchase. “Thanks, Mulder, I’m touched.” Her voice is low, a murmur, musing to herself. There is no bite in her remark, and she’s surprised she hasn’t shut him down yet.</p><p>“Well, Scully, remember: trust no one, not even the atoms.”</p><p>“Mulder, everything in the universe is made up of atoms, including people, so your statement is redundant.”</p><p>He scoffs, his face fake-hurt, and she fights the smile from taking over her whole face, but can’t because the sparkle in his eyes is too bright and his enjoyment is too much and she feels too overwhelmed when he picks up the mug from her hands, his hands engulfing hers.</p><p>“Why don’t we break this in right now?” He takes it to the kitchen to wash it, drying it after carefully. She’s thankful the sink is on, so he can’t hear her heart beat beat beat and her breath shudder out while she tries to <em>calm down. </em>He pours wine into <em>her</em> mug and another mug, and hands it back to her. Alcohol in mugs reminds her of junior year, when no college kid owned fancy glassware but started drinking wine, trying to move on from the days of taking too many shots of cheap vodka in a row. </p><p>“Cheers, Scully,” their glasses clink in silence. She felt hazy and warm before the wine, the effect of his proximity stronger than the cheap vodka she used to down in 10 minutes. <b></b></p><p> </p><p>
  <b>--//--</b>
</p><p> </p><p>One mug turned into two mugs turned into four mugs. Apparently, Scully had another couple bottles of red in her kitchen waiting for company. They end up on the couch, and she’s pliable, smiling languidly, the wine buzzing through her veins, her legs stretched out on the table. He’s solid and warm, their shoulders touching while the tv is playing a movie she can’t even process. And she’s… comfortable, happy even. When’s the last Friday night she wasn’t typing up reports with her glasses and hair up, sitting at her desk in the corner? She can’t remember and honestly, she doesn’t care.</p><p>She decides she likes the feeling of his arms by her arms, his warm breath coming down when he laughs, so close to her face. She likes having him right <em> there </em>, his hands close enough for her to hold, her legs pressed up to his legs now, his t-shirt crumpled on his stomach.</p><p>Her breathing slows, her head on his shoulder. Mulder looks over, his features soft, cataloging her crossed ankles, the gentle rise and fall of her abdomen. He reaches over and tucks her hair behind her ear. And he knows. He knows she’s it for him.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>--//--</b>
</p><p> </p><p>Another day, another week; another rental car, another plane ticket. This time, it’s airport o’clock to Massachusetts, land of clam chowder and lobster rolls and apparently, an x-file. Mulder is talking a mile per minute, what else is new, as she pulls out a white paper bag, still warm, and presses it into his chest. He takes it, still talking, and opens it up.</p><p>Silence.</p><p>“Scully, for me? What’d a guy like me do to deserve such a great morning?” His dopey smile, the crinkle around his eyes, and one eye roll from her lead to quiet again with Mulder eating through a chocolate croissant, small pastry pieces sticking to his lips. And yeah, it’s no cheesy mug, but it made him smile and honestly, shut up for a few minutes. She lifts her chin up; a small win.</p><p>After the plane ride, which has little turbulence luckily, they end up at a crappy motel with its flickering vacancy sign on. They go through the day, going from a diner to houses to a park, talking to too many people. All day it’s been “Scully, what about the pastor,” and “Scully, we need to go to the park,” and “Scully, can you do the autopsy,” all while he’s been in her face, stealing the air from her lungs, his jawline distracting her, his hands lingering on her arm, her back, every five seconds.</p><p>But finally, it’s the end of the day, and she’s sick of her heels, and can’t help but envision the shower and soft clothes waiting for her in her room. Does he realize they don’t need to be out the whole night? It takes three rounds of ‘no, Mulder’, two of ‘where are you going’ and one rental car disappearing out of her sight. Fine. He wants to do whatever he wants, he is <em> more </em> than welcome. It’s truly unfortunate for her, that despite her annoyance and frustration, she still wants him here, by her, near her. </p><p>He definitely doesn’t see her eyeing him when he goes through his sunflower seeds throughout the day, when his sleeves are rolled up, his forearms peeking out. And then she’s back to square one: fighting a blush on her cheeks, fighting the butterflies in her stomach. Annoyed that her heart rate goes up, that her heart swells, that she needs to change her underwear because the thought of him soaks her through too many pairs. </p><p>She finally gets her blazer off, her watch, the day’s dust washes off her in the shower, the warm spray relieving the tension in her neck, her shoulders, her back. She’s finally clean, outfitted in a t-shirt and leggings, sitting cross-legged on the bed. As she settles into the pillows behind her, there’s a knock at the door, a key turned in the lock, and a Mulder in the doorway. This time, he has a six-pack in hand, a peace offering, maybe even a silent apology written on his face for leaving her behind. A rare occurrence really, but he pads over and gets on her bed, his still damp hair and clean face tower over her. The six-pack is on the floor, and then there’s a cold beer in her hand, the cap off, the condensation slippery but a relief. They lock eyes for a few seconds. She feels his eyes searching her face, and her cheeks warm up. Is he stuck on her lips like she is on his?</p><p>Silence again. One clink, two lips on their respective bottles, and she can’t help but wonder: why isn’t it always like this? It’s shoulder to shoulder, and she’s conscious of the t-shirt straining on his bicep, his fingers around the neck of the beer bottle, his light jeans, and his striped maroon socks. She’s conscious of the ease she feels, that they can just sit and exist around each other, that she just wants to be near him. She’s conscious of his profile, the rise of the bottle to his lips, his adam's apple bobbing on the swallow; she’s mesmerized by this man, by his mind, by his will, by his strength.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>--//--</b>
</p><p> </p><p>Minutes tick tick tick, and then the peace is gone; both their minds start working in unpaid overtime, the shifting on the bed too loud. Mulder gets up, but leaves the beer, stepping into his shoes. She’s just watching him, her eyes following him as he laces his sneakers, one at a time. </p><p>“Well, goodnight Scully,” his voice soft.</p><p>“Night, Mulder.” She follows him on his way out to lock the door behind him, but he pauses in the doorway. He leans on the door frame, lanky and hair almost dry, sticking up in a few directions. Something flashes in his eyes, and she can’t place it, but her breath catches in her throat; the light from the parking lot illuminates him, and he’s glowing. </p><p>Her eyes trace his face, never tired of what they see: his lips and his cheekbones and his nose, her lips parting to draw in a breath. On a shaky exhale, he moves in closer, performing the same act he does every day, messing with her thought process, interfering with the times she touches herself because she can’t get his face out of her brain, adoring her from far away without ever saying ‘i love you’, and it breaks her heart over and over and over, but now he’s here here here here he-</p><p>His eyes are locked on hers. She licks her lips and gives him a small nod, and then his lips are on hers,<em> soft, so soft </em> , she thinks as her head is falling back against the door. She can’t process the warmth, his hand on her cheek, his other hand digging into her hip. Her hands are on his arms, and he tastes like beer and salt and <em> Mulder </em>. She is overwhelmed by his gentleness, his mouth moving to her cheek, his hand brushing hair behind her ear. Her heart is filled with light. </p><p>Her hands move up his arm, to his shoulder, tracing to the back of his neck, and she smiles softly;: Her hands do fit perfectly, made for him him him. </p><p>He reaches and he gets to the soft spot under her ear, and she knows it’s over; she’s a goner. A small moan escapes her lips, she can feel his low chuckle vibrating against her neck as her hands take residence in his hair. She feels the pop of his lips coming off her neck, and then it’s forehead to forehead, her chest heaving. That’s when she’s aware of <em> him </em>. His length presses into her stomach, and she feels an all too familiar ache at her core; she’s turned on, and doesn’t want him to ever leave her personal space again.</p><p>They become aware of the fact that they are still very much in the doorway, and she pulls away from him, grabbing his hand in hers, and draws him inside the room. Her back is flush against the door, and there he is, hair tousled and lips slick. If he doesn’t kiss her in three seconds, her brain will start overworking and overanalyzing, but then he’s there again, his lips crashing on hers, the kiss searing her inside out. His tongue swipes across on her bottom lip, and she’s wet, and not just there, everywhere, sweating from the fire emanating deep inside of her. </p><p>Her nimble fingers are on the hem of his shirt, and she finally gets herself out of the haze enough to kiss his nose, the corner of his mouth. His head, bowed to her; her thumbs, stroking his cheeks.</p><p>“Do you think I don’t notice you looking at me, Scully?” he teases, a smirk sitting on his pretty lips.</p><p>She reacts before she thinks, a small gasp and then,  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she murmurs. </p><p>His hands move to her back, drawing her close to him. She feels the blush on the back of her neck, the tremble of her hands, the recognition of all those times she’d been caught staring at him, hitting her like bricks, like a strong wind catching in her umbrella, off-centering her, rendering her knees weak. If it wasn’t for the door, if it wasn’t for Mulder, she would be on the floor.</p><p>But then he’s smiling, giving her the strength she needs to whisper back, “Yeah? Think I don’t notice you, Mulder?” and then it’s her lips on his neck, trailing across his rough, stubbled jaw line, and she can’t help but press into him, fitting perfectly as she tucks into his neck. She feels an undeniable warmth and a slight happiness that comes in flashes; the happiness she feels when he’s there for her, when he’s picking her up, when he calls her, when he shows up over and over.</p><p>It’s all bashful looks and fluttering eyelashes but she knows she needs him, now. It’s his turn to lead, hands interlocked. <em> God, how have they never done this before </em>. She sees him: her hands on the back of his t-shirt, helping him take it off, boxers peeking out of his jeans, his stomach lean, his shoulders broad. Her hands move on their own accord, down his arms, sitting on the waistband of his jeans. </p><p>As they move to sit on the bed,  he looks at her, gazes even, eyes dark, following her fingers as she lifts off her shirt to reveal her bare chest underneath. His lips immediately attach to where her neck meets her shoulder, trail to her collarbones, place small kisses at the hollow of her neck. </p><p>And then his breath finally ghosts over one pink nipple. She can’t stop the roll of her hips into his, her hands roaming his neck, his back; his tongue is warm and firm, and he lavishes both breasts, one nipple in his mouth while his hand is playing with the other one. </p><p>“You’re so beautiful, Scully,” he says, sighing into her chest. </p><p>He moans, his voice low, “I can’t get enough of you.” </p><p>Her back arches up as his right hand rests on her inner thigh, the fabric there warm and damp, and she needs him now now now. She hears herself whimper, and then straddles him, her hand at his chest. His erection is straining in his jeans, and she can’t stop the canting of her hips, her hands balancing on his shoulders. A strangled groan leaves his lips, and his hands move to her hips, her ass, and she can’t stop her slow grind against him. One hand moves to the back of her neck while the other draws her closer. He kisses her, his tongue pushing into her mouth, he  gently works his hand up and down her back, leaving a trail of warmth, her movements getting faster. </p><p>“Baby, please.” His voice is dark and velvet, and she feels his hips buck into her, and then his lips are back at her nipple, her eyes rolling back, leaving her breathless.</p><p>“Mulder, take off my pants.” </p><p>With no hesitation from him, she lifts her hips as he slides them down her legs. Suddenly, he flips them, Scully flush against the pillows. Quicker than she’s ever seen him move, he’s eye level with her center, her panties are soaked through, and he’s peppering small kisses on the tops of her thighs. </p><p>His fingers sit on the waistband of her underwear, and he breathes out, “Scully, is this ok?” She can barely get out the throaty “<em> yes” </em> that leaves her parted lips. </p><p>She’s dripping and she knows it, her abdomen taut and her thighs quivering at the thought of his lips, his <em> tongue </em> so close to where she wants him most, his breath on her thighs, his hands moving up to her waist and back to her underwear. She starts pulling them down, and he finishes the job. Her underwear joins her pants, forgotten on the cheap carpeted floor of this motel room, and then his tongue is at her center, and she’s whining, her hands in his hair. His tongue is warm, she’s so slick, his tongue circling and circling, but missing her most sensitive point. How many times had she thought about this very moment, between sunflower seed car rides to the way his teeth glide over his pouty bottom lip when he’s deep in thought?</p><p>His hands travel  up and down her thighs. He hooks one over his shoulder, deepening his kisses. He licks along her slit, his tongue dipping in, and she throws her head back, one hand moving to her nipple. She feels herself grinding against him, her back arching off the pillows - <em> how is he so good at this </em> - and then there’s two fingers in her and a muffled <em> Scully </em> coming from his lips <em> . </em> </p><p>He suddenly begins sucking on her clit; her eyes close and her hand tightens in his hair, a moan  spilling out of her and she’s coming, clenching around his fingers, seeing spots in front of her eyes, tumbling over and over and over the edge, her breathing ragged, her limbs turning to liquid.</p><p>She relaxes into the pillows, catching her breath as he pulls out his fingers. He looks up at her, a small smile, his lips and chin glistening. As he crawls up the bed, and she takes his hand in hers, guiding his fingers to her mouth, tasting herself, licking them clean, her cheeks hollowed. Mulder groans as she releases him with a pop, and kisses his neck, his earlobe, his cheekbones. Her hand travels to his jeans, and they’re tented, his erection straining. </p><p>“You happy to see me, Mulder?” She says playfully, peeking at him under her lashes. She almost misses his quiet, <em> always </em> . She catches his eye, and he’s looking at her in reverence. His expression is shy as she starts to undo his jeans, and then he’s there. Her hand on his length, slightly grasping at the root. His breath shudders out as she moves up and down, him standing at attention. She moves on top of him and lowers herself down, and can’t stop the <em> fuck </em>tumbling off her lips as he fills her up slowly, his hands guiding her hips. The sight of her, hair tousled, pink on the high points of her cheeks, her nipples rosy and thighs shaking leaves him looking at her in awe, his eyes glittering with want, with need.</p><p>It’s delicious, it’s overwhelming, it’s everything to her, to be connected to him like this. The man who never stops, who never takes a breath, whose mind is running 24 hours a day, always thinking, thinking, thinking. To have him <em> here </em> , under her, in her. She leans forward, and he takes over, pumping into her slowly, with every thrust up, a low growl leaving his lips. They move in tandem, getting closer and closer to orgasm, and then he lets out a ragged <em> Scully </em> as they let go, seconds apart, her face slack, lips parted, eyes closed. She collapses on top of him, both of them spent and weak and happy and deliriously head over heels. He steals a kiss on her hairline, and she opens her eyes to a tiny smirk on a sweaty face. That earns him an eye roll of the ages.  She kisses his cheek, their limbs tangled and breathing slowed.</p><p> </p><p>--//--</p><p> </p><p>Maybe in the future, they’ll be dancing in the television light, or making pancakes (for Mulder) and oatmeal (for Scully) and black coffee (for both) at 10:30 am on a Sunday, or going ice skating with their hands intertwined, or picking out carrots at the farmers market, or showing up at each other’s apartments with fresh flowers and a pizza.</p><p>Maybe this is  the moment they had been waiting for their entire lives, the fraction of peace in the air yelling at them, that this is their moment and theirs only. Maybe they can revel in the fact that they found each other as specks living on a rock in this expansive universe. Oh, to love and be in love, to be surrounded by the one you love, to be focused on their happiness and health and comfort and well-being and livelihood; to support them, to build them up, up, up, to be there for them and with them, forever and always.</p><p>Or maybe they were meant to be together just in this pause of time; and maybe, that’s enough.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is my first MSR fic! I'm a sucker for their constant need to be around each other, them ~gazing~ at each other. Hope you liked it, let me know what you think :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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